Is it where the heart is, or is it where you hang your hat? Is it where you were born or where you intend to die? Is it where you choose to live, or is it a place that chooses you? Is it just one place?
Imagine my quandary as I leave my Penn Quarter abode for an extended weekend to fly across the country to California. "Going home", right? I suppose; it's a big state though, and same language aside, San Francisco is no San Bernardino. Ya know? And when I head back on Tuesday, guess what? Going home. When I first return from abroad and land to go through customs in Miami - yup, home. And I've never spent 24 straight hours in Miami... therefore, my country is home! I suppose if I went to the moon, Shanghai would be home, and I've never even been there. "Ni hao! Wo meiguoren!" Actually, I know that's Mandarin, but whatever; my Shanghainese is rusty.
Sooo, obviously everywhere is not home. That has to be true, but there are default homes and there are homes that are a conscious project. We will always miss the food, the customs, the sights, and the smells of a place we love. Hopefully we, too, are missed, and that, definitely is part of the allure. But, that could include a number of locations spanning the globe. The home you choose as your actual residence is central to an active purpose. It is neither a predicament nor a destination; it is a base of operations. It should be a place of solace, yet it should be a source of inspiration. It is a reflection of you, yet it does not define you. We think of home as a finite boundaried existence, however I believe that where I live should never confine; it should provide. It should provide for our purpose... wherever that is.